Why is my tongue flapping in want of you. The clouds have gathered after a long time. It will rain. Oh look at the roads. They are already wet. It has already rained. We could have fucked all morning before you went to work and I went back to hell. But you aren’t here and neither am I. I am talking to the stained walls, to the damaged television. I am talking to my bottle of hot water, to the night lamps that never burn. I am talking to the clouds because all the rainwater has dried in their fat grey bellies. I am talking to the fuming exhaust of these loaded trucks – enter my lungs and make me faint. I am talking and talking and doing nothing much. I am doing all this when I could have drank your cum and begun my day.
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